


Safe House

by Thisbe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisbe/pseuds/Thisbe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne, Arthur, and Eames find Nash hiding in their safe house after a job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe House

Eames hadn’t told her the name of the little town the safe house was in and she had been spared the indignity of a blindfold by falling asleep in the backseat about 30 minutes outside of Dallas. She couldn’t tell how long they had been driving, but the sun was setting when she was woken up by the bumpy transition from asphalt to gravel. Eames pulled the ‘borrowed’ SUV up a long packed dirt drive to an old trailer home. A decrepit barn and shed could be seen east of the house, their doors chained shut.

“Glad to see you’ve woken up. Who wants to learn to pick locks?” Parking behind some scrubby trees, he came around to open her door for her. “We’ll break into the barn later to hide the car, we don’t have enough cover here. Let’s get into the house and maybe you can sleep in a real bed.”

The past week had been spent sleeping in plane seats, airport lounges, and one brief, uncomfortable nap standing up in a broom closet. For someone who spent a large portion of her workday asleep, she had been abnormally tired for the last few weeks. She chalked it up to stress or maybe a touch of a flu bug. She didn’t look forward to getting sick here. She couldn’t see any other houses on the horizon, much less a town with a pharmacy.

“Here, love, you just carry your bag.” Eames tossed his own bag over his shoulder and took the PASIV out of her hand as she tried to climb out of the SUV.

“I’m already tired of this everything’s bigger in Texas crap” elicited a little grin out of him before he turned and made his way to the door hidden from the road by an overgrown rose bush. The screen door looked ready to fall off its hinges, but Eames found a paving stone to prop it open.

“It looks like a pretty old deadbolt, so we’ll just need to manipulate the pins so they’ll be level with the shear line, we’re just tricking the lock into thinking we’ve got the right key. And let’s just test the handle to see how sturdy the door is should picking fail and we’ve got to kick it in.” Eames’s voice grew quiet as the door opened.

“Take this and swing it at anyone you don’t recognize. Or Arthur, you can swing it at Arthur if the need arises. Follow right behind me.” Eames didn’t seem to be panicking, but she could feel him covering the tension with a layer of false confidence. Arthur shouldn’t have beat them there, he had agreed to take the longer route.

The hall was empty and cramped with the two of them squeezing in and not quite shutting the door. The little kitchen was much cleaner than she had expected. Most of the dust had been cleared from the counters, but enough remained on the window sill and atop the little range that Ariadne knew Arthur’s allergies would give him hell. A single cup and plate sat in a drying rack by the sink.

The sun had unevenly bleached the placemats on the tiny kitchen table. A half-full gallon jug sat in the center of the table and the salt and pepper shakers had been shoved aside. As she noticed more and more signs that the house was occupied her grip on the PASIV grew tighter: a pair of mud caked workboots under the table, a pile of linty spare change and a few rusty screws on the counter, the buzz of the ancient refrigerator.

Eames had pulled his handgun out from his coat, a scuffed and stained thing they’d found in the back of the SUV. None of them had expected Texas to be this cold in November. The sun had been unrelentingly bright, but the wind had torn at her hair and her lips were chapped from the dry air. She could hear it battering away at the aluminum exterior.

The little living room was bare save a braided rug, a wobbly wooden chair, and a battered recliner. A cheap clock radio sat on the floor flashing 12:00. A pair of worn athletic socks hung from the top of a pair of boots.

Eames raised the gun as he made his way to the splintering door. She pulled the PASIV case up to her chest, hoping whoever was in here didn’t have a gun and if they did that the case would serve as an impromptu bullet-proof vest.

A scrawny brunette lay sprawled over a thin mattress. His feet dangled off the end, bare and blistered. A jagged red scar peeked out the cuff of his jeans on his right leg. Dark shadows lined his eyes. His eyes fluttered open as Eames kicked the mattress and he scrambled towards the wall, reaching for something.

“If you’ve got a gun over there, don’t you dare reach for it.” Eames’s shoulders had grown even tenser, the found jacket failing to stretch across his back properly.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t turn me back to Cobol.” Ariadne had seen this man before, just not outside Arthur’s head. He had been a projection in multiple dreams, but she had never worried about it. You can’t populate a dream with faces you’ve never seen before and he’d never been violent or that remarkable: just a businessman grabbing a cup of coffee or a guest at a party.

“Up against the wall, Nash.” Eames gestured the man away from the mattress. “See what he’s got squirrelled away over there.”

Setting the PASIV down she found a scratched rifle and a half-empty box of rounds crammed between the mattress and the wall. Pointing the gun away from Eames and Nash, she removed the magazine, retracted the bolt, and checked the chamber to make sure it was empty. Looking around the room, there wasn’t much to see, Nash had a backpack at the head of the mattress and a flashlight.

“How did you find this place?” Eames still hadn’t lowered his gun. Ariadne emptied the backpack onto the mattress, finding a few shirts and a small knife, which she tucked into her own pocket.

“I found it by accident in Cobb’s head. I thought it would be abandoned since he retired. I didn’t think it would still be an active safe house.” Nash’s adam’s apple bobbed as he took dry swallows. “I wouldn’t have come if I thought you’d be here. I just need some time to get off the radar.”

“Let’s go wait for Arthur in the living room, shall we?”


End file.
